Task Force Uniform
by PapaBear0
Summary: [ARMA 3] The year is 2034. Anarchy prevails in the failed state of Greece. A bloody civil war has ravaged the island of Altis, leaving millions displaced, condemned to transience. As criminal elements rush to exploit the misery of the people, the United Nations assembles a rag-tag team of peacekeepers to restore order, but external forces have their own agenda for TF Uniform
1. Prologue

"To the victor belong the spoils of the enemy."  
-William L. Marcy

**Prologue**  
**07/07/2035**  
**05:25 EET/03:25 BST**

_X-Ray: "X-Ray to Broadway, message, over."_  
_Broadway: "Go ahead X-Ray, over."_  
_X-Ray: "We've lost contact with Kamino. Can you confirm? Over."_

_Adams: "Staff Sergeant Adams to Kamino, priority! Commander MacKinnon is down! Urgent assistance required, over!"_

_Adams: "Kamino, I say again, request urgent CASEVAC to our position! Commander MacKinnon is down! Please respond!"_

_Kamino: "Kamino to Broadway, shots fired! [Gunfire] Heavy casualties. [Explosion] Requesting support! Broadway, do you copy?! Over!"_  
_Broadway: "Kamino, this is Broadway, we read you. Wait one."_

_Rogain: "Adams, this is Rogain. Get your ass back here, now!"_

_Echo: "Echo to Broadway, we see explosions at Kamino, gunfire across the island."_

_Broadway: "[Gunfire] Broadway to all units, Green on Blue! Green on Blue! AAF forces considered hostile! Stand your ground, out!"_

_Rogain: "[Sustained gunfire] Rogain to Broadway, we're under heavy assault! Send backup, over!"_

_Broadway: "Broadway to all NATO units, Code Foxtrot! Code Foxtrot! HQ has been overwhelmed by Greek forces!"_  
_Uniform 2: "Mayday! Mayday! [Static] Uniform Two to Broadway, [Static]"_  
_Broadway: "Try to regroup at coordinates...[Explosion]"_

_Uniform 2: "Uniform to Broadway, say again, over!"_  
_Uniform 2: "Uniform to Broadway, we are going down! Send rescue team at coordinates [static]"_

**07:02 EET/05:02 BST**

_Uniform 2: "Mayday, mayday, mayday. Any units on this net, this is Uniform Two of the United Nations Police on Altis. We have crashed and have multiple casualties. Two KIA, five reds, and ten yellows. Requesting urgent MEDEVAC."_

When Agent Rachel Hammond heard the familiar sound of the engines of an AAF MRAP, she thought she was saved.

The sun was setting, and in the distance storm clouds were formenting. The burning wreckage of the United Nations transport plane behind her filled the air with thick black smoke, and her nostrils with an acrid scent.  
_Fucking shit, the Greeks are lazy today._ thought Rachel. The young French police officer had only spent two weeks on the UN police assistance mission on the former Greek islands of Lemnos and Agios Efstratios (now known as Altis and Stratis) yet she had already formed an opinion on the locals.  
It seemed that all effort she put into signing up for the mission was for nothing as the mission had been hastily called off for whatever reason. But instead of having a smooth albeit frustrating plane ride back to Paris, she was stuck in the middle of nowhere. It was cold and she was getting tired.

"Hé! Ici! On a des blessés!"

Rachel suddenly realised she was speaking French, and switched to her thickly-accented English. Four soldiers exited the MRAP, their rifles ready.

"Hey! Soldier! We have wounded."  
The Greek soldier looked confused. Rachel was equally confused at the soldier's apparent lack of comprehension. Altis and Stratis were former British colonies, and as such, most of the locals were bilingual in Greek and English.

"Do you speak English?"  
A soldier that seemed to have the rank insignia of an NCO barked an order at the other soldiers. Before she could even think, a soldier raised his rifle, and three 5.56mm bullets ripped through Rachel Hammond's police vest, killing her. Several more gunshots rang out as the four soldiers executed the surviving peacekeepers. All except one. Sergeant Ben Pouliot was unconscious and slowly suffocating in the wreckage of a C130J.


	2. Chapter 1: The Shooting

"Which is better—to be a pack of painted [censored] like you are, or to be sensible like Ralph is?"  
A great clamor rose among the savages. Piggy shouted again.  
-William Golding, _Lord of the Flies_

**Chapter One: The Shooting**  
**Montreal, Canada**  
**09/01/2034**  
**14:00 EST/19:00 GMT**

_Pouliot: "19-2 to dispatch, mark me 10-05, in service."_  
_Dispatch: "Dispatch to 19-2, received."_

It was days like today when Sergeant Ben Pouliot regretted joining the police. The little respect the public had for the institution of, and even the very concept of law enforcement, had evaporated decades ago. Ben could still remember the days when cops were seen as heroes and protectors. Nowadays, more often than not, he and the others in his line of work were seen as little more than overpaid tax-collectors with guns. Some days, Ben felt like quitting, and starting again. With a Master's Degree in computer science, Ben could easily get a job at any one of the city's thriving new technology start-ups.

_19-3: "19-3 to dispatch, show us 10-02, lunch break."_  
_Dispatch: "Copy, 19-3. Enjoy your break."_

Just under ten years ago, when Ben announced his ambitions of joining the police to his friends and family, they laughed, and asked "Why waste your talents?" Ben answered, "Because I want to make a difference." Back then, visions of heroism, honour, and glory filled his head. He wanted not only to make a difference in the community, but also the police service. His family and friends told him he was only wasting his own time, but Ben ignored them. Ben joined the Service de police de la Ville de Montreal in 2025. After working as a patrol officer for a few years, then switching to CID, Ben quickly learned that the toxic culture of policing was impossible to change. Equally stubborn was the never-ending tide of crime and chaos that was inherent to life in the city.

As Ben stopped at a red light, a man holding a cell phone approached his car. Ben rolled down his window half-way. "Officer, I have a problem." said the man. Ben took a notepad out of his vest pocket, and clicked his pen. "What kind of a problem?" There was something familiar about the man's voice.

"I have a problem with you, bitch!" Ben remembered where he had heard that voice. It was the voice of famed YouTube cop-baiter BigBoy69.  
"Love you too." replied Ben as he rolled up his window.  
Ben slipped his notepad and pen back into his vest.  
"Fuck the police!" shouted BigBoy69 as he backed away from the police car. Ben drove on.

It seemed that the only thing keeping Ben in the police force was the salary of being a Sergeant in quartier 19, a community notorious for its anti-police sentiment. Few officers were assigned to the community by choice.

_Dispatch: "Any available units, robbery in progress, Esso gas station on Saint-Urbain and Ontario. Suspect is a white male, with blue eyes and brown hair, 20-30 years of age, purple hoodie, black jeans."_  
_19-5: "19-5 to dispatch, show me 10-11 to robbery on Joseph-Perrault."_

Ben hesitated, before turning on his lights and sirens and turning onto Joseph-Perrault road. 19-5 was a car with a single officer. While he was confident that Agent Nick Chartier could hold his own, it never hurt to have backup.

_Pouliot: "19-2, show me responding to robbery on Joseph-Perrault."_  
_Dispatch: "Copy, 19-2. Be advised, casualties reported on scene."_

Ben sped through an intersection, steering with one hand, while rummaging through his patrol bag for his rifle with another.

_Chartier: "19-5 to dispatch, I'm 10-12, on scene. No signs of trouble, but there's quite the crowd gathered in front of the store."_

Ben put his head through the sling attached to the rifle.

_Chartier: "Calisse! 10-07! 10-07! Help!"_  
_Unknown: "Squeal piggy, squeal! Squeal for your piggy friends!"_

When Ben arrived on scene, the first thing he noticed was the small crowd of about 10 gathered around the battered and bleeding Agent Chartier. The crowd was kicking and laughing at Agent Chartier. Some of them wielded sticks or baseball bats. The sirens of police cars echoed in the distance. Ben reached into his patrol car and activated the loudspeaker. "Crowd, disperse!" The group ignored the command. "Crowd, disperse now!"

A gunshot rang out. Ben fell to the ground. He was on his back, clutching his chest. A .40 calibre round had hit him in the vest. The crowd cheered. A chant of "Fuck the police" began. Ben flicked the fire selector on his rifle, setting it to full-auto. "Disperse now!" he shouted.

A man with a gun emerged from the crowd. He was holding Agent Chartier's Walther PPQ pistol. Blood stained the gunman's leather gloves. "What are you going to do, pig? Shoot me?"

Ben pulled the trigger on his rifle, letting loose a burst of gunfire. The man with the pistol dropped to the ground, killed instantly by the 6.5mm bullets that ripped through his heart and spine.

"Disperse!" shouted Ben. The crowd went silent. Ben saw the limp, bloodied form of Nick Chartier in the crowd. A young man holding an aluminium baseball bat approached Ben. Ben squeezed the trigger and didn't let go. At the same time three police cars pulled up behind Ben. The crowd was sent into a panic, and finally dispersed, leaving behind three dead bodies.


	3. Chapter 2: Letting Go

**Author's Note**: I've completely lost direction on where I wanted to go with this story, so I'm abandoning it, and leaving it as is. I may come back to finish this one day, but until then...

* * *

"Forgiveness means letting go of the past."  
-Unknown

**Chapter Two: Letting Go**  
**Montreal, Canada**  
**09/01/2034**  
**18:00 EST/23:00 GMT**

After a short questioning by Surete du Quebec officers, and a quick check-up at the hospital, Sergeant Ben Pouliot decided to call it a day and go home early. He pulled into the driveway of his small house in a quiet suburb of the city. As he walked into his house, he couldn't help but feel a resounding feeling of guilt. He was the shift sergeant, he was supposed to be looking out for his officers. Now three people were dead, and their blood was on his hands. Agent Nick Chartier's blood was on his hands.

When Ben entered the kitchen, opened the fridge and grabbed a beer. It was days like today when Sergeant Ben Pouliot regretted joining the police. Ben picked up the remote turned on the television. He had left it on the taxpayer-funded news channel RDI.

"The situation in the Aegean Sea is rapidly deteriorating according to the latest UN Security Council report. In the report, Secretary General Justin Trudeau condemned what he described as 'self-serving imperialism' by both Canton Protocol and NATO countries. In particular, the report highlights the failure of foreign nations to fight growing tide of organised crime on the islands of Altis and Stratis, which faced a decimating civil war just 4 years ago."

**Birmingham, United Kingdom**  
**09/01/2034**  
**23:00 GMT**

_Miller: "Hey, it's Scott Miller. A buddy of mine told me that you were sniffing around about your brother Matthew. I'll be in town today, so I might be able to help you out. Depending on what kinds of questions you're asking of course. OPSEC is pretty tight around the day that Matt...Matthew died. Just give me a ring whenever suits your fancy, alright?"_

Captain Scott Miller drank alone in the nearly empty hotel bar at the Birmingham Hilton. While it was still years away, Captain Miller knew it was coming. It was time to start thinking about retirement. He couldn't be a spook forever. The line of work he was in was a young man's game. His loss wouldn't be too hard on MI6 anyway.

Scott ordered another shot of whiskey.

He contemplated doing some consulting in the private sector, but figured that it didn't suit him. He decided would retire to a house somewhere in the country, and live the rest of his life playing bingo or doing whatever the hell retirees did in their free time.

Scott ordered another glass.

Scott was growing tired of playing the spy game. He'd almost spent half of his life serving for king and country, and wanted the other half back. Just one last assignment under some new division called "Combat Technology Research Group" and he'd be home free.

Scott ordered another glass.

In all his career, from SBS to SAS to MI6, Scott had never really considered what he would do afterwards. He had worked assignment to assignment with no endgame in mind. At one point years ago, he had thought about settling down, but he dismissed the idea as being silly. He would never get a chance to act on it anyway. The day Sergeant Matthew Frost died was the day his life lost all meaning.

In the eyes of the higher-ups, Matt's death wasn't particularly special. The bright-eyed young soldier from Birmingham had died of an occupational hazard. It was a risk of the job. Scott knew that he shouldn't have become too attached to him, but he let his emotions get the better of him.

Scott ordered another glass.

"Scott? Scott Miller?"


End file.
